García saw those things, but his attention was centered on something else. And that was the man nailed to a cross. Not just any man, but Manuel Africa, García’s spy inside the Roja cartel.

  Large nails had been used to secure Africa’s wrists and ankles to the cross. His head was up, roped there with some cord, and a sign hung across his bloodied chest. It read, Muerte a los traidoros.

  That was when Sergeant Velasco spoke. “Somebody’s been digging holes around here, Captain. Look… There, there, and there.”

  García looked, and sure enough, patches of darker soil marked the spots where the digging had taken place. Why?

  A chill ran down García’s spine. He thumbed his radio. ¡Corran! ¡Cúbrete entre las rocas!”

  But it was too late to take cover. As the soldiers scattered, so-called “Jumping Jack” mines shot up out of the ground to a height of approximately four feet, where they exploded and hurled ball bearings in every direction.

  The overlapping zones of death cut dozens of soldiers down, including García, who was struck in the back. Then, as the officer tried to disappear, a machinegun opened fire from the top of the bank. He was praying when the bullets found him.

  *

  Ricardo and Benito Ayo were lying side-by-side when they triggered the mines. The Jumping Jacks were new to them, and were quite expensive, but oh, what a sight!

  Sheets of blood flew, soldados danced like marionettes, and the steady bang, bang, bang was reminiscent of Dia de los Muertos when the firecrackers came out. The machine gun fire was like dessert.

  “Damn,” Ricardo said, as he got to his feet. “That was a sight to see. Francisco! Get wide shots from up here. Then go down and shoot closeups. I want to own the evening news.”

  Benito felt a jab of jealousy. Why was Ricardo giving the orders? And shouldn’t he say “we?” As in, “We want to own the evening news.” It was his idea after all.

  It was a small thing. But a lot of small things can add up to a big thing. And it was eating at Benito.

  Once the photography was over the Reds went down to create a helipad by dragging bodies out of the way. Then a distant buzz was heard, a dot turned into a four-place helicopter, and dust flew as it landed.

  The downdraft was sufficient to blow what remained of the cross over, taking Manuel Africa’s body with it, adding another corpse to those scattered all around.

  The brothers were airborne minutes later. “Mother would be proud,” Ricardo shouted.

  Benito was silent.

  Days passed. And, when Ricardo left for business meetings in Mexico City, Benito was left to fuss and fume. But there was nothing he could do so long as his brother was in charge. So, Benito drank, rode his horse, and issued orders to the servants. None of whom needed his guidance.

  When Mayor Aguilar arrived, Benito was seated behind his mother’s desk, watching cartoons on the wall-mounted TV. A servant arrived with the news. “Mayor Aguilar is here to see Ricardo. Should I send him away?”

  Benito frowned. “Aguilar? Who the hell is he?”

  “The Mayor of Lugar de Paz, sir.”

  “Oh, yes… Lugar de Paz. What does he want?”

  “He claims to have information about the man who killed your mother,” the servant answered patiently. “He wants the reward.”

  “¡Mierda! Why didn’t you say so? Show him in.”

  The man who entered was short, balding, and dressed in a cheap suit. He was holding a straw hat which he had rotated counter clockwise.

  Benito could be charming when he chose to be, and went forward to shake hands. “Mayor Aguilar! Welcome to Hacienda Roja. My name is Benito Ayo. Please, have a seat.”

  *

  Aguilar managed a weak smile. He was well aware of the fact that Benito was also known as El Niño, and reportedly responsible for countless murders.

  But, if he wanted to collect the twenty-five thousand dollar reward offered for information related to the person or persons responsible for the murder of Elena Isabella Ayo, he had to enter the lion’s den. And, rather than Ricardo Ayo, he was about to deal with the notorious younger brother. “Thank you, Señor… You are most gracious.”

  *

  Aguilar was a sniveling fool. And Benito liked that. He perched on the corner of his mother’s desk. “So, I understand that you have information regarding my mother’s murder. And that’s to say nothing of my brother Mateo. If so, you will be richly rewarded. Please share what you know.”

  Aguilar’s voice quavered as he spoke. “The murderer’s name is Nick Serrano. He arrived in Lugar de Paz about six months ago. He has enemies. Lots of enemies. And whenever they come to town, Serrano kills them. He is—how do you say? A pistolero. A few months after Serrano arrived, there was an attack on Rancho del Sol, which is owned by El Cuchillo, and his house burned to the ground.”

  Benito nodded. “Sí. And?”

  “El Cuchillo wanted revenge,” Aguilar replied. “And Serrano’s novia has a son. So, El Cuchillo kidnapped the boy. Your mother’s death was the ransom.”

  It made sense. All of it made sense. But Benito had to be absolutely sure. “Okay, that’s quite a story. But how do I know that Serrano, and the man who killed my mother, are the same person?”

  Aguilar swallowed. “According to the rumors, you were present when your mother was killed. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Benito replied darkly. “It’s true.”

  “I have a photo of Nick Serrano,” Aguilar said. “It’s in my pocket.”

  “Go ahead and take it out,” Benito said. “Slowly.”

  Aguilar made a show out of opening his suit jacket, reaching in, and removing a creased photo. Benito went forward to receive it. The photo was a tight shot of a man with even features, and two days’ worth of stubble, looking off camera.

  Benito felt something akin to an electric shock surge through his body. It was him! The man who murdered his mother. There was no fucking doubt about it.

  Benito wanted to scream obscenities, cry, and dance for joy all at the same time. It took all his strength to remain outwardly calm. “Thank you, Mayor Aguilar. Please wait here. I will return with your reward.”

  *

  All Aguilar could do was to wait. His hands were shaking, and for good reason. El Niño had what he wanted. Why pay? When he could kill the informer instead?

  Aguilar was gambling his life and knew it. But twenty-five thousand was a lot of money… And he’d been unable to resist. Plus, there was the matter of his pride. He would never forget the manner in which Serrano had barged into his office and shamed him. His hands trembled. Would Benito return with the dinero? Or would narcos come to take him away?

  Aguilar heard footsteps. Benito appeared. He was holding a paper bag. “Here you go, Mayor. Would you like to count it?”

  Aguilar stood. All he wanted to do at that point was to leave the hacienda alive. “No, Señor. I trust you.”

  “And I trust you,” Benito said, as he handed the bag over. “You’ll find twelve-thousand, five-hundred dollars in there, along with a cell phone, and a number. Call it if Serrano leaves town. Otherwise, there’s no reason to do anything at all. The rest of the money will be delivered to you once Serrano is dead. Do we understand each other?”

  Aguilar nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good. You can leave.”

  *

  Benito watched Aguilar go. Twelve-five wasn’t a lot of money by cartel standards. But Ricardo would be pissed. Why? Because he wanted to make each and every decision. That’s why. Well, fuck him. That shit was going to change.

  *

  Lugar de Paz, Mexico

  The sun was up, the sky was blue, and Nick Serrano was happy. Finally, Mr. Yankovic was dead, and he could enjoy life without having to be constantly on guard.

  “You’re smiling,” Martina observed, as she eyed him over her coffee mug.

  They were seated on the tiny patio located next to La Casa Bonita. Paco was playing with Macho. “Of course I’m smiling,” Serrano replied. “I’m here with you.”

  “Yes, you are,” Martina said. “And I asked you a question. A mariachi band? Or no mariachi band?”

  After returning from the States, Serrano wasted little time asking Martina to marry him. And, following a discussion with her son, she said “Yes.”

  That was when the seemingly endless questions began. Should the ceremony be held at Father Colon’s church? Or at Pancho’s restaurant? And who should they invite? A small group of family and friends? Or the whole town?

  Now, even though those questions had been answered, Serrano found himself drowning in other minutiae, including who would function as los padrinos y madrinas—a role similar to godparents. As such, they would sponsor parts of the wedding.

  And it didn’t stop there. What sort of vows would be exchanged? There were wedding rings to consider, and las arras—the coins that would symbolize the couple’s commitment to each other. All of which were important to Martina.

  “A mariachi band is a must,” Serrano assured her. “So people can dance.”

  That was the correct answer, judging from the warmth of Martina’s smile. It felt good to be home.

  *

  La Hacienda Roja, Mexico

  The Ortegos cartel controlled a broad swath of land that stretched from Puerto Vallarta in the west to Veracruz in the east, with the Ayo clan’s holdings to the north of that.

  Which was to say that, had the Ortegos chosen to, they could have gone to war with the Las Rojas cartel and won. That’s what Ricardo feared, and why he’d agreed to a conferencia to discuss the possibility of an alliance. And not just an alliance, but the first step toward a narco state which would embrace all of Mexico. The very thing that his father had dreamed of.

  Benito, on the other hand, was of the opinion that Ricardo was agreeing too quickly. “Negotiations haven’t begun,” the younger brother complained, “and you’re caving in. Is that what mother would have done? I don’t think so.”

  But Ricardo’s mind was made up. “Mother didn’t fight battles she couldn’t win,” he countered. “Pack a bag. We’re going to Lake Chapala.”

  Lake Chapala was located five hours east of Puerto Vallarta, covered 420 miles, and was quite shallow. It was surrounded by low mountains blanketed with greenery, and fed by three rivers.

  Chapala was a relatively small city of 51,000 residents, and was known for its good shopping and active nightlife. That made it the ideal location for the Ortego family’s sprawling lakeside retreat called Sueño Diurno.

  Although there was nothing dreamlike about the armed narcos who met the Ayo brothers at the airport, or the gun trucks that accompanied their armored limo into the Ortegos’ walled compound.

  That too was fortified and defended by uniformed “retainers” who were clearly a cut above the unkempt rabble that served lesser cartels.

  As for the Ortegos themselves, they came across as socialites rather than the iron-fisted drug dealers they actually were. There was Harvard graduate Jorge, the tennis-playing leader of the clan, plus his beauty queen-wife Serena, and their two teenaged daughters. Both of whom had a haughty demeanor.

  Once introductions were complete, Ricardo and Benito were led to a two-bedroom guest suite which looked out over the sparkling lake. “This is the way to live,” Ricardo observed. “Who knows? If we do a deal, we could buy land and build a retreat.”

  Benito bit his tongue. It seemed safe to assume that the suite was bugged. But the Ortegos couldn’t hear his thoughts, which were rebellious, to say the least. He was of the opinion that rather than play pattycake with the Ortegos, it would be preferable to invade Lugar de Paz and find Nick Serrano. Then, once the murderer was dead and the village was reduced to smoking ruins, they could court the Ortegos.

  But Ricardo disagreed. “We can have our revenge any day of the week. But the opportunity to meet with the Ortegos is something special.”

  Dinner was a formal affair. And, thanks to the training received from their mother, the brothers were able to choose the correct silverware for each course, tell self-effacing stories, and occasionally highlight their accomplishments—the so-called “777 Ambush” being one of them.

  “Yes,” Jorge said, as he patted his lip with a linen napkin. “That was brilliant! And sending video to key news outlets was pure genius. Which one of you thought of that?”

  The video had been Benito’s brainchild, and he was about to say as much, when Ricardo beat him to it. “That was my idea, Jorge. We’re fighting two wars… One to take and hold ground. The other is aimed at winning the hearts and minds of the people.”

  Benito felt a surge of resentment as the Ortegos clapped, Ricardo beamed, and their desserts arrived. Benito ate. But the taste was anything but sweet.

  The next day was spent discussing the many difficulties that they would have to overcome in order to supplant the Mexican government, especially how other cartels would react, since they were a good deal more dangerous than any army unit.

  Ricardo took the lead during the discussions, leaving Benito to fume, so that by the end of the day he could barely contain his rage.

  Ricardo knew his brother was pissed and didn’t care. For this reason, there was very little talk on the way to the airport, or during the subsequent flight.

  After landing at Hacienda Roja, the brothers exited the plane and made their way toward the house. Ricardo was leading the way when Benito drew a nine-millimeter pistol, took aim, and shot his brother in the head.

  The report was quite loud, and half-a-dozen security people responded. “It was him!” Benito shouted. “The man who murdered my mother! Find him!”

  Staff ran in every direction. Benito knelt next to the body. Tears were running down his cheeks. And they were tears of joy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lugar de Paz, Mexico

  Diego and Carlos were carrying a great deal of weight on their backs. Some real and some perceived. There was the dynamite, yes, but more than that, the responsibility for striking the first blow.

  Benito Ayo had stressed that. “We’re going to attack Lugar de Paz and find the man who killed my mother and brother. And you will lead the way! According to what my spies tell me, Lugar de Paz has a well-trained guerilla force which stands ready to defend the town from scum like El Cuchillo. But their organization has a weak point. Because of a shortage of funds, they’ve been forced to rely on cellphones for communications, rather than radios. If we destroy their cell tower before the attack, they’ll be unable to coordinate their defense. And that’s where you come in. By sneaking into town at night, and planting explosives at the base of the tower, you can bring it down. Once that’s accomplished, you can leave town and return here.”

  As one of the Ayo family’s most trusted retainers, Diego was adept at reading subtext. And Benito’s message was clear: Destroy the tower and you can return to the safety of the hacienda without being part of the bloodbath in Lugar de Paz. So, Diego had a strong incentive to say, “Yes.” Which he did.

  And, because Carlos trusted Diego, he said, “Yes,” as well. And that was how the two men wound up transporting packs filled with explosives to the Place of Peace.

  Lookouts were stationed in Lugar de Paz at night. That’s what Benito’s spies had reported. But only a couple of them. And because they were old, and creaky, they had a tendency to remain close to their homes. Neither of which were located near the cell tower.

  And, since the lookouts lacked the means to stop vehicles and search them, the best way to enter town had been in the back of a van.

  Once it stopped, the men jumped out and hurried to enter the deep shadows. The van was already in motion by then. The whole thing was accomplished so quickly that the lookouts were unlikely to have taken notice, even if they were tracking the vehicle. “Come,” Diego said. “We have work to do.”

  *

  Nick Serrano was awoken by the sound of an explosion, and knew what it meant. Insurgents were attacking his outpost again. Had they been able to penetrate the perimeter? That was unlikely, but not impossible.

  Serrano grabbed a revolver and stood. That was when he remembered where he was—it was a dream then. Or was it? Serrano heard the wail of the town’s single fire engine and knew the answer. He was awake and something bad had occurred.

  Serrano’s first instinct was to call store owner, Manuel Mendoza, the man in charge of the town’s volunteer lookouts. But when Serrano thumbed his phone, he couldn’t call out. And then it hit him—the cell tower. The fucking cell tower! It was and always had been the town’s Achilles heel. If it had been destroyed, the phone-tree warning system was off line. And who would want to take Lugar de Paz down? El Cuchillo, that’s who. Serrano hurried to put his clothes on.

  *

  Martina Blanco looked at her clock. It was 3:37 on the morning of her wedding day. Paco came running into her room. “Mamá! Something went boom!”

  Martina realized that he was right. Something had gone boom. But what? She checked her phone for text messages. Nada.

  It soon became apparent that everything was down. Text, email, and phone. Church bells began to chime. The backup warning system! Lugar de Paz was under attack.

  Martina felt a surge of fear. “Get dressed Paco, and grab your emergency backpack. This isn’t a drill.”

  *

  Benito Ayo was ecstatic. The tower was down, a secondary fire was burning, and his ejército de retribución was about to enter Lugar de Paz. The army consisted of one hundred seven men, ten armed vehicles, and yes—a helicopter! Engines roared and rotors clattered as the helo passed over El Niño’s Humvee and approached the town. And more than that… Nick Serrano’s home. Mayor Aguilar’s hand-drawn map was Benito’s guide. It was clutched in his hand.

  *

  As a parishioner rang the bells, Father Colon greeted the first file of children at the front door of his church, and blessed each one. Teenagers then led each group down into the only basement that the town of Lugar de Paz had. All except Paco Blanco that is, who managed to slip away, and lose himself in shadows.

  *

  With his emergency go-bag in back, Serrano drove the Chevrolet Silverado downhill. The bed was loaded with gravel, which made it heavy and difficult to steer. A fire was burning off to the right, near the spot where the cell tower had been, and he figured it was the hotel.